


After Midnight

by Dame_Dulces



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Cheating accusations, Distrust, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Saiouma Pit Valentine’s Day Event, Swearing, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dame_Dulces/pseuds/Dame_Dulces
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, but Ouma hasn't come home yet.Created for Saiouma Valentine's Exchange 2019.





	After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by an idea from [Nebby_Webby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebby_Webby/pseuds/Nebby_Webby), who I owe my life.
> 
> Edit: I've attached the image created by the talented [Choartsu](littlestclown.tumblr.com) to accompany this fic! I'm so grateful to work with such a talented artist!

**_Valentine’s Day, 20XX_ **.

 

Half melted candles that burnt out long ago lined the bedside tables. One or two stayed aglow, tiny flames grasping for oxygen to burn in hope their light would not be in vain. Wilted rose petals were scattered across the white linen sheets and led to the living room, where one somber navy-haired man sat alone staring at the grandfather clock as the second hands tick-tocked onwards into the night. His eyes were red and dry from fatigue and his greasy hair hung over them like heavy curtains. He clutched a mug of dark liquid, roasted java wafting in the air and mixing with the faint aroma of flowers.

 

The hours passed without event. 1:00. 2:00. 3:00. Drifting further away from that special day.

 

He wasn’t sure if it was the coffee or his own disappointment that left the bitter taste in his mouth.

 

~

 

Saihara was still awake when Ouma came tiptoeing through the front door shortly after the clock struck four.

 

He was on his eighth cup of coffee and wasn’t sure whether the caffeine or his debilitating anxiety was causing his heart to race a million beats per minute.

 

Ouma had been gone since 8 that evening, despite giving him his word that he’d stay home that night to celebrate Valentine’s Day together. Another promise unkept. For the past month, he had started leaving the apartment well after sundown, sneaking away into the shadows of the night as if he had something to hide. Saihara hadn’t asked any questions at first; he didn’t want Ouma to think he didn’t trust him. But after a while, spending his nights alone in bed without Ouma beside him was becoming too much to bear. And every time he tried to discuss it, Ouma simply shrugged it off and avoided the subject. He tried not to assume the worst, but the years he’d spent as a private investigator for married couples had rotted his naivety. And Ouma’s lack of solid answers was beginning to drive him insane.

 

He waited until he heard the door shut before turning on the desk lamp. The living room was suddenly filled with an ominous dim light. Surprisingly, Ouma didn’t flinch. As if he was expecting this. He stepped on the rose petals without thought, either pretending not to notice them or ignorant to their existence entirely.

 

“Where have you been,” Saihara asked in a gravelly voice.

 

Ouma turned around with the most arrogant smirk Saihara had ever seen.

 

“I was making passionate love with Amami-chan, obviously,” he spat back with a sneer.

 

Saihara put the half-filled mug to his lips with shaky hands. The jealousy in his heart brewing stronger than the French Press..

 

“If you’re gonna cheat, at least break up with me first.”

 

His lower lip quivered as the words spewed from his mouth like hot water.

 

Ouma rolled his eyes.

 

“That was obviously a lie. Learn how to take a joke.”

 

“Was it? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately. I have evidence.”

 

“ _Evidence?_ Jesus Christ, Saihara. What is this, an interrogation? Can’t you talk ever to me like a regular fucking person?”

 

Saihara’s fingers clutched the handle of the mug so hard his knuckles turned white. He felt anger rising in his chest, threatening to boil over.

 

“It’s the only way I can get you to tell the truth half the time. You can never just be honest with me.”

 

That did it. He knew he’d crossed the line, but he was tired and not in the mood for Ouma’s antics. It seemed that his boyfriend felt the same.

 

“Alright, I get it. I’m nothing but a liar and I can’t be trusted, not even by my own boyfriend. Congratulations! The ultimate detective can point out all of my goddamn flaws!”

 

The detective slammed the mug on the table. A few drops of lukewarm coffee spilled over.

 

“Ouma, you know that’s not what I-!”

 

“You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a terrible person. But at least I can go two seconds without needing constant validation.”

 

Saihara winced, the comment hitting a little too close to home. His anger quickly faded to despair as sorrow tightened its grip around his neck. He knew the worst was yet to come, though. When Ouma snapped, he was the type to twist the knife even deeper into the wound.

 

“I mean, seriously? How have you made it this far in life depending so much on others? Even if I wanted to leave I couldn’t knowing you’d fall apart.”

 

The violet-haired man paused, waiting for a nasty retort, or for Saihara to sling another insult at him, but instead the room fell silent. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of faint sniffling.

 

After several seconds passed, Ouma uncrossed his arms and turned to look at his boyfriend’s face. He saw tears dripping into his coffee mug and heard the sound of faint sobbing. Saihara was hunched over as if in great pain, his face obscured by his long black hair.

 

“... Saihara-chan…”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

“Hey… come on… I was just kidding… you don’t have to cry about it…”

 

Talking more just seemed to make him cry harder. He watched as his boyfriend covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shuddering as heaving sobs took control his lithe body.

 

Ouma panicked when he realized he had gone too far this time. _Leave, just get out of here, you’ll just make things worse._ Every cell in his body screamed at him to run, to do what he did best whenever a situation called for him to be vulnerable.

 

But he fought against it. He couldn’t leave Saihara like this. He loved him too much to abandon him.

 

He took a seat next to his crying boyfriend, debating on what to do in this situation. Should he hug him? Hold his hand? Whisper sweet nothings into his ear? God, he was so bad at these things. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

 

“Shuberry,” he said at last, calling him by his favorite nickname. “Please don’t cry.”

 

Saihara turned away, hiding his face in shame. He sniveled; it sounded like his nose was clogged. Ouma really fucked up this time.

 

He sighed. Apparently he had to pull out the big guns to fix this mess.

 

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a tiny black box made of velvet.

 

“It’s expensive, you know,” he said nonchalantly. “I had to work doubles with D.I.C.E. to be able to afford it by February.”

 

This seemed to pique the detective’s interest. He sniffed again, looking towards the violet-haired boy beside him with puffy red eyes and flushed pink cheeks.

 

“... What?”

 

Ouma opened the box and gazed at its contents longingly.

 

“Amami-chan helped me pick it out. And before you ask, yes I paid for it fair and square. No heists involved in this acquisition.”

 

He put the box on the table and watched the light bounce off the studded band in geometrical shapes. He failed to notice Saihara staring at it with wide, shocked eyes.

 

“You know, I’m not the biggest fan of government involvement, but I figured what better way to prove my undying love and adoration for my favorite detective than to devote the rest of my life to him? And to make it extra romantic, I’d propose on Valentine’s day.”

 

Now, he was the one looking away in shame. He averted his eyes to a spot on the opposite wall.

 

“Stupid, right? Who’d ever marry a no-good liar like me.”

 

“Ouma…”

 

He snapped the box shut and shoved it into his pocket.

 

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. I’ll bring it back tomorrow and I’ll leave you forever.”

 

He felt a clammy hand on top of his, and turned to see Saihara staring at him with a melancholy look in his eyes. His hair was disheveled, his nose was running, and his face seemed to have turned three shades of reddish pink. Each time he blinked, new tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the couch beneath him. He was a mess, and absolutely, undeniably beautiful.

 

“Do - _hic_ \- you - _sniff_ \- really want to - _hic_ \- marry me?”

 

Ouma did his best to hold back from chuckling, yet couldn't help but smirk. Saihara's little whimper was adorable, but he didn't want to make him feel worse by laughing at him.

 

“No shit, Sherlock. I thought you’d be able to deduce that by now.”

 

“But - _sniffle_ \- why? I’m - _hic_ \- I’m… so… pathetic…”

 

Ouma shook his head with a sad smile.

 

“I’m more pathetic. All these years and I still can’t let my guard down for you.”

 

He put a hand on Shuichi’s face and turned it towards him. Heat radiated under the palm of his hand.

 

Then, he did he something he knew he should have done a long time ago.

 

“I’m sorry, Shuichi.”

 

The words were awkward and clumsy and felt unfamiliar, like he was reading a book aloud in another language and unsure of what the words meant. They prompted more tears from the already slobbering boy.

 

“Please, don’t cry anymore… I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

 

He wiped the remaining tears away, brushed the damp hair from his face, and planted two long kisses on both of his cheeks. Then he wrapped him in the biggest, warmest hug he could muster with his small frame. The two of them stayed there for a while, losing track of time. Just listening to the tick-tocking of the clock and the crickets outside the window.

 

Finally, reluctantly, they pulled away from one another.

 

Saihara seemed to have calm down. Ouma grabbed a box of tissues from the kitchen counter so he could blow his nose.

 

“I’m sorry I accused you of cheating,” he said once he had gathered his bearings. Ouma just shrugged again.

 

“It’s my fault for sneaking around like a criminal. I should have been more open with you.”

 

Saihara crumpled the used tissue in his hands. He looked up and met Ouma’s eyes.

 

“By the way, my answer is yes.”

 

“What?”

 

“My answer is yes. Of course I’ll marry you. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.”

 

Ouma felt his heart soar through the ceiling. His first instinct was to hide it, but he was tired of running away. He wanted to turn over a new leaf, especially if marriage was in their future. He wanted to be better, or at least try.

 

He wanted to do it for him.

 

He threw his arms around Saihara, and kissed him on the lips until the first light of sunrise peeked through the living room window.

 


End file.
